


Red Feathers of Life

by Inches_Apart



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Me not knowing how to write summaries, Mike and Stan being best friends, Mike being a cool supportive friend, Mike dealing with Stan's death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-21 22:16:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13153140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inches_Apart/pseuds/Inches_Apart
Summary: Stanley Uris had been Mike Hanlon's best friend for as long as he could possibly remember. After hearing about Stan's suicide, Mike comes to understand that his friend is not truly gone forever.





	Red Feathers of Life

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a secret Santa gift for http://galactiglitter.tumblr.com/  
> They're super cool, definitely check them out
> 
> Also, I don't know how to write a summary for this whoops

_It was times like these where he just needed to remind himself of the good times._

_To let himself drown in the memories of sunny days, blissful hours, and best friends. Of the time they spent running barefoot through the Kenduskeag, lighting off fireworks, and whispering late into the night on starry evenings. Of the times they had laughed, of the times they had smiled, and of the times they had cried._

_It was times like these where Mike Hanlon was desperate for any memory of something strong enough to distract him from the harrowing pain of loss._

_Though, it was also times like these where he sometimes wondered if drowning in the past was even any better. Maybe what he need was to simply forget everything. To wipe the slate clean and pretend as though nothing had ever happened, as though nothing had ever even been there, to begin with._

_‘_ But he had been there _,’ Mike thinks, ‘_ he was there and he changed your life. Don’t you dare forget him, you coward. _’_

_Of course, Mike knows the thought of being able to control what he can and can’t forget is soon to be out of his hands. Afterall, he just first hand witnessed the impact It had on the memories of his friends.Still, the thought of one day not being able to remember just who he was to Mike leaves his mind reeling with uncertainty and his stomach feeling sick. He doesn’t want to forget his best friend, but he doesn’t know how he could possibly live with this pain. Even though it was twenty-seven years ago that it happened, in the memory in Mike’s mind it still feels like it was only yesterday that Stanley Uris had first spoken to him…_

-

“You want to shoot off some firecrackers?”

Despite everything that had just happened to him, being hunted down by Henry, chased through a junkyard, and having to fight off the scariest gang of kids in town with rocks, Mike couldn’t stop the smile that formed on his lips at the other boy’s words. His body was tired, sore, and ached more deeply than the could remember, yet he’s never felt better.

 Here these six kids were, bruised, cut, and bloodied because they stood up for Mike and protected him, without even knowing his name. Mike felt oddly honored. He felt welcomed.

The boy cracked a smile when he saw how widely Mike was grinning back at him. He stuck out his hand to Mike. “I’m Stan. Stanley Uris. A pleasure to meet you.”

Mike grabbed his hand firmly and shook it. “Mike Hanlon. And trust me when I say the pleasure is all mine. If you hadn’t been there for me, Henry Bowers would have had my guts for garters.” Mike looked at the other kids standing around Stan. “Thank you, all of you, really.”

Another boy laughed. He had curly black hair and was putting an obnoxious pair of glasses on his face. Mike recognizes him as Richie Tozier. He remembers that he talked to him once, and it was a very odd experience, to say the least. “ Ah, don’t worry about it, kid. Any excuse to turn the table on Henry and kick his ass for once is fine by me.”

Mike looked back over at the kids, seeing how injured they were. “You didn’t need to get hurt for me though. I’m sorry about that.”

The girl with red hair glanced down at the cut on her arm and shrugged. “We’ll heal. Everything we got is way less than what you’d have gotten if Henry got you, anyways. This ain’t so bad.”

Mike glanced at Stan with a look of uncertainty. Stan just gave him a reassuring smile in return. “Don’t worry about it. Besides, that’s what friends are for.”

He froze.

‘Friends,’ Mike couldn’t help but think to himself, ‘I’ve never had friends before.’ 

He smiled at the other kids with an expression bordering on tearful. “Thank you.”

“Really, Mike, don’t worry about it.” Stan waved his hand dismissively before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a firecracker. “Now, what do you say we light some of these off?”

Mike, overwhelmed by the kindness shown, merely nodded his head in response. Stan handed him one of the crackers and gave him another smile.

-

“You know,” Stan said an hour later as the seven kids (or, as they seemed to refer to themselves as, the Losers) made their way back to the Barrens after they had lit off their last firecracker. “You’re not bad, Mike. I think we’re gonna be great friends.”

Mike gave a small laugh. “You ain’t too bad yourself. I think we’re gonna be great friends too, Stan.”

—

It was less than a minute until the bell rang and Mike couldn’t help but anxiously tap his foot. It still felt weird to him to be attending a public high school after attending a private religious school all his life. He was just glad his parents were understanding enough to let him attend the same high school as the other Losers. Getting to see them every day certainly made dealing with Derry High’s lacking academics more bearable.

The second the shrill sound of the bell pierced through Mike’s thoughts, the boy was grabbing his backpack and heading out the door.

Dodging and weaving his way through the crowd, Mike quickly made his way to locker 819, the locker closest to Mike’s seventh-period class that belongs to a Loser. Of course, it didn’t just belong to any Loser either, no. It belonged to none other than Stan Uris, and that fact could be confirmed by the cut-out image of a baseball taped to the front of the locker with Stan’s name and baseball uniform number written on it in his neat handwriting. All other members of the baseball team had similar images on their lockers as well.

Mike stood in front of his friend’s locker, carefully trying not to get in the way of students hustling to leave school at the end of what felt like a very long day. He stood up on his toes scanned over the tops of student’s heads trying to spot the curly mess that was Stan’s hair that would be coming from his seventh-period biology classroom. At last, the man Mike had been looking for came into view, smiling at his friend.

“Hi, Mike,” Stan says, giving his friend a small wave before turning to open his locker to put away textbooks.

“Stan!” Mike was beaming. “How was biology?”

“About as good as learning about how grand our existentialism can become gets.”

Mike giggled, and after a moment, Stan joined in. After being friends for so long, Mike had slowly adopted Stan’s bizarre sense of humor, much to the other Losers discomfort since they still didn’t understand it.

Once his books had been swapped, Stan closed his locker and he and Mike made their way out of school and to the Barrens to meet up with the other Losers. The two friends strolled along, chatting casually and enjoying the warmth of the afternoon sun shining down on them. As they passed by the entrance to Memorial Park, Stan stopped dead in his tracks, grabbing Mike’s arm to get his attention.

“Mike, Mike, Mike, Mike, Mike,” Stan whispered in a hushed yet excited breath as he pointed into the park. “Look, look, look.”

Mike followed Stan’s pointing finger and saw a bird at the birdbath located just beyond the gated entrance of the park. He wasn’t much for birds, but Mike did have to admit it was a beautiful creature. It was a striking and bold red in color with a tuff of feathers sticking up on its head, an orange beak, and a black mask over its face. Mike knows he’s seen a bird like this before, but he couldn’t place the name.

“What is it?” He whispered back to Stan, ready for the long explanation and description he was going to be given about the bird. You could hardly ask Stan anything about a bird without being given a whole lecture about it, and that was just one of the many things Mike enjoyed about his friend.

“It’s a cardinal, a male cardinal specifically based on its vibrant coloring, and they’re super rare to see in Derry. I was told a few years ago that there was one that often visited the bath here, but I’ve never actually seen it before…” Stan began to trail off, too caught up in awe of the bird to properly finish his thought.

The two watched the bird as it hopped around the bath for a moment, splashing in the water and ruffling its feathery wings from time to time. After about three minutes, the bird took off, flying across the park and out of their sight. Stan stared after it longingly and Mike couldn’t help but chuckle at him.

“That’s it. It’s been decided.” Stan said firmly after his mind finally returned back to his body.

“What has?”

“My favorite bird. It’s a cardinal. I wanted to be left without a specific breed of bird I was more fond of than the others, but that cardinal was just… stunning, was it not?”

Mike smiled. “It certainly was something.” He nodded his head as he and Stan continued walking.

Stan was quiet for a minute, a small shy smile evident on his lips. “I’m sorry, I’m just still reeling from… this!”

“You’re such a bird nerd.”

“You can say that again, Mike.”

“You’re a bird nerd.”

Stan laughed. “Thank you.”

–

It was a well-known fact that Mike’s home was always welcome to any Losers at any time. It was no secret that most of his friends didn’t have good parents, and Mike’s parents had more than enough love to share to make up for that fact. So when Stan Uris just appeared in Mike’s room, Mike couldn’t really say he was surprised.

“He’s an asshole,” Stan said, flopping down on Mike’s bed.

Mike spun around in his desk chair to face Stan on his bed. “Who?” He asked, already knowing the answer to his rather rhetorical question.

“My dad!” Stan exclaimed, throwing his arm straight up in frustration before dramatically letting them flop back down onto the bed.

Mike stared at his friend for a moment, observing him. He had known Stan for many years now and he knew just how bad his dad could be. As a well-respected member of Derry’s Jewish community, he always expected Stan to follow in his footsteps and become a rabbi like he had. And while Stan was passionate about his beliefs and heritage, Mike knew that Stan also had dreams that differed from that of his father, and that could make family interactions very tense. Mike also knew that Mr. Uris was not shy about playing the ‘I’m disappointed in who you’re becoming’ card on Stan, and Mike couldn’t even imagine how deeply it’d hurt to have to hear those words from one’s parent.

It was blatantly clear from Stan’s demeanor and body language that he was more than just angry about his father. After years of being around him, Mike was able to see through all the hidden chips in Stan’s armor and see just how badly he was hurting within the defenses he’d put up to protect himself. Mike’s heart ached for his friend.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked genuinely, giving his friend a comforting smile to show that he was there to support him and wouldn’t force Stan to talk about anything he wasn’t comfortable with sharing. The other boy was quite comfortable and trusting with Mike, but he knew that sometimes Stan would get so upset that he was shut down and close himself off completely from everyone for a while, and Mike didn’t want to overstep any new boundaries his friend may have established.  
  
But Stan just stared at Mike for a second, and in that brief moment, Mike saw the walls his friend put up start to crumble down. Then Stan began to talk. He talked about anything and everything that was in his mind. The pressures his father put on him, the uncertainty of his own future, and the doubt that Stan carried with him at the core of his being. Once he started going, he talked and ranted as fast as the sun was setting outside Mike’s bedroom window, drawing out long shadows across the room as the night crept in.

Mike knew Stan well enough by now that he knew based on how Stan was talking he didn’t want help with his problems. No, he didn’t want solutions, he just wanted to say everything on his mind and have someone listen to and hear what he had to say. And Mike made sure he heard every word of it. He nodded along thoughtfully, keeping all of his attention on his friend who at this moment in time needed to know that someone was there for him, and Mike was determined to make sure Stan knew he was there. Stan didn’t have to be alone. He’d always have Mike by his side whenever he needed him there.   
  
“And he’s just so… so…” Stan made an angry gripping motion with his hands, staring at the fists he made with rage and frustration as tears started to form in the corners of his eyes.

“Hey,” Mike said, carefully grabbing his friend’s hands to get him to stop before his nails punctured the skin of his palms and he hurt himself. “It’s alright, Stan, I get what you’re trying to say. Don’t worry about not having the right words now, they’ll come to you when the time is right.”

Stan sighed heavily, slowly relaxing his hands. “You’re right, you’re right. I’m sorry.” He sniffled and Mike’s heart ached.

“No, no, no, no. You don’t need to apologize, Stan, I understand. It feels good to let everything out, but you don’t want to hurt yourself.”

Stan pulled his hand from Mike’s. “Yeah, I don’t want to hurt myself either. He just makes my life miserable.” Stan forced out an awkward and uncomfortable laugh to cover up the pained sob that was threatening to spill. “It’s probably time for me to calm down now. This is getting too emotional.”

Mike understood immediately that Stan was done being vulnerable for the time being. He had a lot of insecurities, it was just who he was, and he often times wasn’t comfortable with so openly expressing his emotions.

“Of course.” Mike nodded, turning his desk chair back around to his desk to grab a pad of paper and a pen. “Wanna draw some birds?” He asked.

Stan smiled, taking the paper and pen from Mike’s hands gratefully. No one was ignorant to the fact Stan liked birds, or even the fact that he loved drawing the birds he’s seen in his bird book, but only a few people knew was that the number one way to get Stan to calm down and to relax when he was upset was by drawing birds. The boy just gets so swept up in meticulously replicating the intricate design and details of birds, that all his worries vanish from his mind, even if it is only for a few hours.

So there the two boys sat, tucked away from the vileness of the outside world in the safety of Mike’s room, hidden from sight in the cloak of the night as they drew. Stan laying on his stomach on Mike’s bed, carefully making sure each and every part of his drawing was beautifully accurate towards the real thing, while Mike awkwardly drew blobs with a beak, talons, and wings at his desk. Mike never really was one for drawing, but he would do anything to help his friend feel better, even if the act alone held no interest to him.

Seconds passed quickly, becoming minutes which accumulated into hours, and before either boy noticed, it was two in the morning. They had spent the night talking and drawing, and now they both struggled to keep their eyes open.

“Stan,” Mike whined, flopping down on the bed next to him. “I’m so tired.”

Stan’s small chuckle quickly turned into a yawn. “It is late. I should probably head home.”

“No!” Mike rolled over onto Stan. “Don’t go home yet to your asshole dad. Stay the night, we can have a sleepover.”

Stan gave a choked cough from under Mike. “If I agree will you get off of me?”

“Oh shit. Sorry, Stan.” Mike laughed, rolling off of his friend. “What do you say though?”

Stan quieted, pretending to ponder the offer though they both knew there was no way Stan would choose going home over staying the night with his best friend.

“You know what? Sure.” Stan finally said, and Mike beamed at him happily before scrambling off his bed to pull his sleeping bag out from his closet for Stan.

After watching Mike rush around his room, gathering things for him so he’d be comfortable overnight, Stan got up and helped his friend set up sleeping arrangements for the night. Once the bag was comfortably arranged on the floor with one of Mike’s spare pillows and an extra blanket since Stan always got cold during the night, the two friends gave each other proud smiles before settling down for the evening.

“Need anything else before I turn out the lights?” Mike asked after they both got situated in their respective beds.

“No, I’m good. And thanks for everything tonight, Mike. Thanks for being their and listening and helping. It really means a lot to me.”

Mike chuckled a bit. “Of course. What else are friends for?”

Stan was quiet for a minute, before shifting over to dig through the pockets of the jacket he had discarded when they got ready for bed. At last, he pulled out one of the drawings he did earlier and handed it to Mike. “Here. I know it’s nothing great, but think of it as a symbol of my appreciation and gratitude and friendship.” He gave a shy smile.

Mike took the page, looking at the drawing printed on its surface. It was a cardinal with its wings spread gracefully in flight. It was beautiful. It was also personal, Mike realized when thinking over how cardinals were Stan’s favorite bird.

“Thank you, Stan. It’s wonderful.” The look he gave Stan was full of love, joy, and appreciation. It was also clear he was trying not to tear up at the small yet meaningful gift.

“Don’t you dare cry on me, Mike Hanlon, cause if you do, I’ll cry,” Stan said, blinking quickly to prevent any tears from building up.

“I can’t make any promises, Stanley Uris.”

“I figured not.”

“Love you, Stan.”

“Love you too, Mike.”

“Goodnight.”

“Night.”

Mike clicked the lamp off.

—

“And with this mostly useless piece of paper you’ve given us all here today, Derry High, I must say to you, thank you. For four unpleasant years. And to another four at college, here here, folks!” Richie cheered, throwing his graduation cap up into the air as the crowd gave him a confused yet energetic round of applause. Mike laughed as the principal rushed across the stage to herd Richie off who only just laughed and made faces at the crowd. Ben, who was arranged to sit right next to Mike due to the closeness of their last names, gave him a bone crushing hug after they all had thrown their caps in the air, following Richie’s poor example.   
  
Students quickly began to leave their seats in the center of the gymnasium and make their way outside where they could meet up with their families once again. Mike and Ben, however, got out of everyone’s way once outside, heading off school campus over towards the designated spot the Losers had picked out in advance to meet up at after the graduation ceremony had ended. The two boys saw, as they approached, that Stan and Beverly were already there waiting for them.   
  
As soon as they arrived, Bev quickly went to hug Ben and Mike. Stan looked on, smiling happily for a moment before Bev dragged him over to join in on their group hug.   
  
“Some valedictorian speech Richie gave there, eh?” Mike asked Stan with a chuckle once Bev let them go to sprint over towards Bill who she spotted making his way over towards them.   
  
Stan laughed. “I do suppose that is one way to give an important speech. To give Richie props, it’ll definitely be something we remember for the rest of our lives.”

“You can say that again.”

Beverly made her way back over to them with Bill in tow and a recently found Richie and Eddie not far behind. The seven friends, finally reunited, cheered, celebrating their graduation from high school.

“Wait, wait, wait, Mike,” Richie said, smiling at him. “You got your camera with you?”  
  
Mike smiled, taking out the Polaroid camera he had attached to a strap that hung around his neck. His parents wanted him to take pictures of his graduation, so he had to sneak his camera in under his graduation gown.

The Losers quickly scrambled to strike a pose as Mike set up his camera for a group photo. After setting the timer, he quickly rushed over and threw his arm over Stan’s shoulders, smiling. The camera flashed and Richie cheered again, reaching over to ruffle Eddie’s hair as the Losers started to disperse.

Mike went over to grab the photo that came out and Stan followed after him.

“So, staying in Derry, Mike?” Stan asked.

Mike looked up from the image he held in his hands. “Oh, yeah. Can’t really afford to go out of state, and you know what they say: no place like home. What about you?”

“Heading to New York State. Nice university. No offense, Mike, but I’m glad to finally be getting out of here and away from my dad.” Stan frowned slightly at the thought of his father, before returning the small smile Mike gave him.   
  
“Well, you’re going to be missed here, Stan.”

“I’m gonna miss you too.” Stan quickly embraced his friend. “You better keep in contact with me, Mike.”

“I will. And you better not forget me, Stan. I know you’re leaving and will undoubtedly move on to bigger and greater things, things grander than what this small town can offer, but don’t forget to look back and remember your good ol’ childhood friend, alright now?”

“I won’t, Mike, don’t worry. Jeez, you sound like my mom. Want me to write you every week too?”

“Yes, that would be preferable.”

Stan laughed and Mike gave him a joyful smile back. “Every week then. And you better write me back every week too then, Mike.”  

“Sounds like a plan.”

—

_And it had been a plan, Mike remembers. A plan that had started off rather well. One week after Stan had left for university, Mike had received a postcard from him that he quickly responded too. The two had gleefully exchanged cards every week, and on rare occasions, they’d even call each other on the phone. Mike had kept every card he’d been given by Stan in a small box of keepsakes hidden safely under his bed, and his pile within it continued to grow regularly. But as time had passed, the postcards would start coming later and later from Stan, until one day, Mike never got a response from him._

_Mike couldn’t say he was surprised when he realized he wouldn’t hear from Stan again until the day when he might have needed to call him and all the other Losers back to Derry. He knew that the Losers who’d left were destined to forget about their hometown, childhood, and friends, though that didn’t stop it from hurting when Stan had finally forgotten him._

_As Mike sat at the edge of his bed, the box of keepsakes in hand, he couldn’t help but think about what he’d been told about Stan’s fate. Reports state that after receiving a call from a friend, Stan had excused himself to go take a bath, and when his wife had gone up to check on him mere minutes later, he was found dead in his bathtub, wrists slit._

_Mike knew without a single shred of a doubt that he had been that friend that called Stan right before his death, and even though he knew Stan would never blame him, he couldn’t help but feel guilty. Guilty that he might have driven his friend to do such an extreme thing after he reminded him of a promise he had made nearly three decades ago. A promise to fight an ancient evil that had nearly killed them all before. An evil that wanted another attempt at killing them. And before It had even gotten Its attempt in, Stan was gone._

_Mike bite his lip as he tried to control the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes. He knew that there would be time to grieve later, plenty of time assuming he was able to live through Round Two with It, and Mike knew that this final fight had to be his main priority. But this fight could also wait a damn hour, long enough for Mike to feel what he needed to feel after learning about his friend’s death._

_Taking a deep breath and sniffling a bit, Mike opened the box._

_His box of keepsakes was hardly something he even really went through. Most times when it was opened, it was just because Mike had something else he wanted to add to it by throwing it on top of the pile. This meant everything within the box was in reverse chronological order from the top down. This meant that the last letter from Stan was the first thing he saw. The sight of it felt like a knife had been plunged deep into his soul._

_It had been evident by this point that Stan had almost completely forgotten who Mike was. The mood of the letter was hesitant and uncertain like he no longer knew how to properly interact with his friend. It was kept formal in tone, and all inside jokes that the two thoughtful weaved into their messages had been scrubbed clean from the words staining the card. The note was brief and to the point, lacking any new personal life details that they usually included, as if Stan was no longer comfortable with sharing with him. Almost like Mike was a complete stranger to him.He supposed at that point, he pretty much was._

_Mike took a few breaths to control his breathing that had become slightly more erratic as the knife he had been hit with twisted inside of him. He knew this would hurt, but it appears he had underestimated just how much it would._

_The gently lifted the card out of the box, setting it down next to him as he began to look through everything else within it._

_Most of them were postcards from Stan, especially towards the top since mail deliveries were all he had gotten from Losers once they moved off out of state to college and beyond. No more little hand-made personal gifts, and small objects of sentiment that represented a shared moment of intimacy between him and another one of the Losers. And the last picture he had of all of them together was taken right after the graduation ceremony. Mike tried to ignore the part of him that stated that this was the last image of all seven of them together, alive and well, that would ever be taken ever, even if that part of him was correct._

_Seven had become six._

_And no matter how painful that thought was, nothing would ever change it._

_As Mike continued to sift through letters and other miscellaneous items within the box, he noticed the familiar look of the page at the bottom, underneath everything._

_He pulled out the piece of paper and stared at the drawing._

_Stan’s cardinal was just as beautiful as he always remembered it being. Despite the fact that it had nearly been twenty-five years since it was drawn, the picture was still in incredible condition. No tears in the paper, no smudged or fading lines within the drawing, nothing. Nada. It hit Mike strongest with the memories he and Stan had shared. For a brief moment, it felt like he was back in that night, staring at the newly acquired image before turning his lamp out for the evening. He remembered what he thought when he was given the drawing._

‘Stan and his birds.

He truly is amazing, isn’t he?’

_Mike stopped fighting the tears and wept._

—

Memorial Park was just as dead as the rest of Derry was. The entire town had died right along with It, and as painful as it may have been for Mike to say, he missed his hometown. Everything he had grown up knowing and loving was destroyed and gone, leaving Derry almost completely unrecognizable. When Mike had first seen the little remains of downtown Derry once he was released from the hospital after he had been attacked by Henry, he certainly wouldn’t have guessed it was the same town he had always known.

Memorial Park was, only the surface level, the least destroyed place left in Derry. Mike supposed it was rather hard for an entire park to be destroyed in comparison to a building that could easily crumble and topple, but the influence of Its death was still evident. Trees lost their leaves, the grass was turning brown, and the sidewalks throughout the piece of land were crumbling. Mike still found it hard to believe that the life of Derry was tied to the murderous spirit that preyed off the people that lived in the town.

Mike limped carefully down one of the paths of the park, being careful of the wound on his leg that was still healing. He didn’t know why, but he had been overcoming with the desire to go out on a walk to Memorial Park, and after all he had been through, Mike was not going to ignore any instinctual feeling that came to him. After all, he owed everything he had in his life to said feeling. Even if everything he had in his life was now almost completely gone; either destroyed or being slowly wiped from his mind until nothing was left.

After a bit of walking, Mike’s injury started to throb painfully and he was forced to sit down at one of the park’s few remaining benches for a minute to rest. The day was warm and surprisingly calm despite the destruction that plagued the town. There weren’t many people out and about, probably due to the current dangers of being outside, but Mike did notice a few other individuals mulling around the park like he was. He sighed contently, trying to enjoy the day as much as he could.

Life was going to be hard over the next couple of months, Mike came to realize. Between having to find a new job since the library was demolished, to having to find a new home since his house was gone, to just overall having to start a new life in a new city since Derry was dead, there was a lot to do. Mike knew he was also going to become a new person once he finally started over someplace else. He would no longer be a librarian, a lighthouse keeper, a historian, a Loser. All of those sides of him that Mike associated with his childhood friends were going to be cleansed from his mind alongside them. He was already having difficulty remembering what buildings Ben had designed, what books Bill had written, what the style the clothes Beverly designed were, and how many Voices Richie had. He remembered even less about Eddie since his passing, and Mike was pained to admit that he could only remember very few details about Stan. He remembered he was Jewish, married, lived in the south, didn’t get along with his dad, and that he was Mike’s greatest friend. Most other facts and tidbits about him had already slipped from his mind.

It wouldn’t be long, Mike thought, until the rest was gone too.

Mike’s train of thought was interrupted by the flutter of wings and a flash of red. Quickly looking up, he noticed a male cardinal, a brilliant red in color, resting out on one of the barren branches of a tree in front of Mike, with its black eyes trained on him. When he laid his eyes upon the bird, Mike was hit with a sudden memory so strong that Mike was left lightheaded and reeling. Cardinals were Stan’s favorite bird. How could he have ever forgotten?

Mike remembers the first time he and Stan had seen a cardinal together when they were barely even teens. He remembers the night Stan had come to him, drawn a cardinal, and given it to him forever. He remembers rediscovering that drawing buried under memories in his box of keepsakes right after he was informed of Stan’s passing. He remembers the knife of grief he felt when he had looked back at the picture. He can still feel that pain as intensely as if it had just happened.

He also remembers an old memory, buried deep within his mind. He doesn’t recall from when or where it came from, and the memory itself is covered in dust, long forgotten, but it still returns to him.

_“Did you know,”_  Stanley Uris had once said to him, _“cardinals represent the fire of life that is said to burn within our souls, even in the darkest of time. Fascinating, isn’t it, Mike?”_

_“It sure is.”_  Mike had nodded in response.  _“It sure is fascinating.”_

Mike thinks about what Stan had said to him as he stared at the small bird that in returned stared right back at him.This small red bird was meant to represent life, burning brightly in even the blackest of nights. Mike knew it was no coincidence then that this bird also reminded him of Stan. Someone who was there for him, who’d stay by him in dark times. He remembers now how fearlessly Stan had stood up for him during the Apocalyptic Rock War against Henry Bowers and his gang of goons. He had also saved him and the other Losers when they had fought It when they were kids. He was always there in the darkest times. He was always that spark of life that kept things lively and bright and hopeful. Stan was a cardinal.

And Mike realized that even if Stan passed on, and even if Mike forgot him, he’d never truly be gone. Part of Stan was right in front of Mike, staring at him, watching over him.

The red bird turned, spreading its wings and taking flight. Mike watched it go for a moment, wondering why that bird was so important to him as his thoughts of Stan once again disappeared from his mind.

Mike decided at that moment that cardinals were his favorite bird.

Something about them just made him feel warm inside. Safe. Protected. Loved.

Whenever Mike encountered the colorful bird from then on, he would always get the faint feeling that he had forgotten something.

Something important.

Someone important.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I really don't know.  
> Feel free to message me with any comment/concerns/requests at https://the-barrens-are-ours.tumblr.com/  
> Comments are always appreciated, and thanks for reading!


End file.
